Toujours Dans Mon Coeur
by manhattan martini
Summary: "This place is too big for just two people," Sanada says, staring into the darkness of the lounge. — AkihikoMitsuru


The first time they meet, it's raining.

Penthesilea stirs beneath her skin, anxious to battle, but Mitsuru keeps her back straight and her knees tucked in, all proper-like. Her collar is suffocating, but she can't pop the first button until she's home – no, she corrects, until she's in her room. The furniture has already been delivered, cleaned, arranged like her home decorator wants it to.

Aragaki does not show up, despite Sanada telling Ikutsuki the other boy wants to participate. She files the information for later, focusing on the boy sitting in front of her. A smooth, low song plays on the background; it's French, but Mitsuru has more than music on her plate, and she doesn't pay it any mind.

Sanada is a boy inches taller than her, the difference hardly noticeable, but he sits just as straight as she is and she has to flick her eyes up just so. His face is boyish, young, but his eyes carry the weight of regret and that adds years to his visage. Mitsuru looks away, toward the floor. Penthesilea raises thunderstorms, inside; Mitsuru swallows, mouth dry.

"Now," says Ikutsuki, a gentle smile on his face, "if this arrangement makes you feel uncomfortable, feel free to tell me."

Mitsuru does not have the leisure of choice. Sanada, nodding, doesn't seem to have it either.

* * *

After the talk, after receiving a box with a former murdering device inside, they leave.

Sanada only takes up her invitation for a lift because Ikutsuki suggests it; they walk and ride in awkward silence. He only breaks it when they open the dorm's door, Mitsuru's limousine waiting for them to go in.

"This place is too big for just two people," Sanada says, staring into the darkness of the lounge. The dorm has been aired out for use, after a summer left alone – most of the previous inhabitants have graduated, and those who haven't have been relocated. The door reminds Mitsuru of a mouth, waiting to swallow them whole.

She walks past Sanada like a parent trying to show its child there are no monsters in the closet – not that she'd know about it – and then stops, letting the building press into her brain. It's so unfamiliar, so unappealing. Mitsuru doesn't know much about color theory, but all the brown reminds her of rotting wood.

"We'll just have to wait for someone else to join us," she replies, already on her way to her room, leaving him behind. Penthesilea throws a tantrum and Mitsuru locks the door behind her, feeling lost at sea.

* * *

Aragaki shows up on the lounge at three and so in the morning; Mitsuru has come down searching for a threat, rapier in hand, and finds him standing by the door, hands in pockets. He looks at her sword, then at her, and remains quiet.

Mitsuru slides her rapier inside its holster, unashamed and haughty.

"Aragaki," she greets, nodding.

"Kirijo," he replies. "Something unexpected came up."

"No excuses," Mitsuru says, like a knife. "You either do this right or not at all."

Aragaki looks at her in the eyes (Mitsuru wishes she'd have put her heeled boots on, because he's so tall for a middle-school kid), but he relents, nodding sheepishly.

* * *

Gekkoukan is her family's turf, and Mitsuru notices how the people look at her. The middle school division isn't as popular as the famous and celebrated high school grounds, but one day she is accosted by journalists, stabbing at her with microphones and cameras. Mitsuru falters, gripping at the handle of her bag, and then throws her hair over her shoulder, pinning them down with a glare she's picked up from her father.

"No comment," she says, and it's the first time she does so, free from the constraints of her butler's presence.

They still follow her down the entrance steps, thankfully maintaining a respectful distance, and Mitsuru contains herself, because she knows she only has to walk to her limo, but then a voice rings through the clicking air, breaking the cameras' flashes, and Mitsuru pauses, looking over her shoulder.

It's Sanada, breaking into a light jog, staring at the reporters like he is sizing them up. She wonders if he'll fight any of them, and barely feels the urge to stop him.

"Kirijo," he says, huffing slightly, "is everything alright?"

The reporters stop, looking, and Mitsuru already knows they'll start something between them, but she doesn't much care. Her father won't, and his opinion is all that matters in the end. She is still too young for speculated romance to be an obstacle.

"Yes, thank you," she replies loftily, but then backtracks and nods, half-awkward, before she resumes walking towards her ride. Sanada stays behind, arms crossed, forgotten momentarily while the media follows her, still shouting about stock markets and sharp rises in funds.

She asks for a boost in school security the same night.

* * *

Tartarus is overbearing. It's disgusting; its obscene architecture towers over them like a sentence. The first time, Mitsuru has to prepare herself by staying in her room, staring at the box her evoker comes in. It's steely, shiny, with an easy lock. She opens it, looks at the gun, and then shuts it again. It takes her an hour to be able to slide the gun in its holster. It takes her longer to overcome the shame her fear brings – this is what she's been trained for.

Sanada, conversely, seems to have no issues with it. When Mitsuru heads down, back straight and tense, Sanada and Aragaki are already waiting for her, their evokers sitting on their waist like they're already comfortable with them. Aragaki is immobile, looking at the door with a vacant expression, but Sanada can't stop moving, which is something Mitsuru is already used to – he's always doing something, be it sewing his boxing gloves or changing his weight from one foot to the other. She wonders if it's weird that she notices.

"Ready?" he asks, a shadow of a smirk hiding behind his nervous smile.

"Of course," she says, fishing her motorcycle keys out of her skirt's pocket. Her fingers don't shake, but Sanada still looks at them for a very long time, even when she drops her hand, casual. Aragaki, too.

* * *

Mitsuru doesn't socialize with them outside the dorm. Gekkoukan's middle school department isn't as large as its high school's building, but Mitsuru's grades are top-notch and Sanada's are just good; she gets placed in advanced classes, only meets him during physical education. Aragaki seldom goes to his classes, but he's still hanging on.

Sanada runs faster than the other boys. Mitsuru watches him, sometimes, when they've scheduled a trip to Tartarus; Sanada behaves like he doesn't know his limits, and she always has to be the one to pull him aside and remind him he's only human. Mitsuru hates doing it, despite her best intentions.

"Kirijo," he says, smiling slightly condescendingly, "I'm fine, okay? You don't have to worry."

It's her job to worry; if not her, then who will? She only crosses her arms tighter, cocking her hip without meaning to. Sanada recoils under her stare, and Mitsuru can feel the eyes of her female classmates on her, scalding. She doesn't even spare a glance, feeling irritated.

"Sanada," she replies, in a steely murmur, "Tartarus is not a game. Don't forget."

"I'd never," he says, expression dark, and it's enough, for a while.

* * *

They enter Gekkoukan High together; Mitsuru is placed in Sanada and Aragaki's class at her own request. It's an easier way to share information, and in the case of an emergency, they are easier to track down.

She doesn't expect learning so much about them just because of it. Sanada is surprisingly closed off from the rest of the class, not aloof but not warm either; she'd expected him to be friendlier, based on the number of girls who stare at him when he passes. Aragaki is a stranger to the other classmates. He continues to skip most classes, but he passes every test he takes, so Mitsuru refrains from complaining too much.

Instead, she busies herself with Student Council, already planning her campaign for her senior year, and doesn't pay them much mind. It continues being easier, pretending they don't share a residence, a roof (a home). At school, at least. But in the dorm, they begin to work out a way to coexist, as time passes. This both surprises and terrifies her.

Aragaki is surprisingly proficient in the cooking department, and Mitsuru begins joining them for dinner after she runs out of excuses to lock herself in her room. To his credit, Mitsuru has eaten much worse in three-star restaurants; one day she mentions it, off-hand, and watches Aragaki flush to the tips of his ears before he turns away grouchily.

Sanada is the one who keeps the trio together. Mitsuru is too busy with Kirijo Group, with Student Coucil, with Tartarus and the Dark Hour. All things important and capitalized. The dorm is small letters, fine print, and Mitsuru grows used to it, grows used to finding comfort in a lounge. Nowadays, she almost doesn't have to convince herself to stay – an improvement. She now sits on the plush chair in the lounge and leans back, savoring a magazine and a slice of cake, but mostly because Sanada has ways of keeping her there.

Sometimes it's a casual, "hey, Shinji just finished dinner, have you eaten yet?", because it's obvious she hasn't, and other times is, "would you mind helping me with an English essay?", because Sanada knows she's fluent at English, as well, but more often than not is, "hey, you busy? Wanna eat together?" Which is something she can perfectly turn down without sounding _too _rude. And she never does.

Aragaki is always there, mostly because he seems to sleep in the lounge instead of in his room – Mitsuru has caught him staying up to watch the cooking channel's earliest show – but also because he seems to enjoy socializing with Sanada _and _with her. This makes her feel flattered without knowing why, but Mitsuru doesn't mind.

Slowly, she begins to feel at ease.

* * *

October comes. Amada-san breaks them.

Aragaki vanishes, taking with him Akihiko's easiest smiles, and Mitsuru finds herself looking at his room every time she goes down the stairs. His absence marks them, weighing them down like the reminder that they're responsible for someone's death.

"We're taking a break from Tartarus," Mitsuru says one night, upon getting home. Akihiko is in the kitchen, fixing himself a bowl of instant noodles – with Aragaki gone, Sanada's feeding habits go down the drain. Is it negligence or self-infliction? She doesn't comment on it – she is hardly any better, constantly eating out in expensive restaurants instead of at the dorm.

"What? Why?" Sanada asks, turning to her. The noodles slosh precariously close to the end of the bowl, threatening to flood the carpet with chicken-scented water. This tells her he's annoyed, on edge. Mitsuru has been raised to recognize weakness – bussinessmen are just that, and she's going to inherit the company one day. She needs to know how to find advantages.

She does just that.

"We're missing one person. You're not going in alone."

Sanada sets the bowl down on the counter distractedly, already gesticulating with his hands.

"It's not like I can't do it alone," he says, a brief tinge of irritation in his tone. "It'll be fine, Mitsuru—" and then he quiets down, like someone's sucked the air out of him. Mitsuru looks at him curiously; she knows of his tendency to call Aragaki by his first name, but they share history Mitsuru doesn't. Is Sanada used to calling everyone like that? The thought is foreign to her, an heiress who addresses the most important person in her life as Father.

"You agreed to following my plans," she says, overlooking his mistake. There is a contract with his name on it – more beneficial than prejudicial, just health and life insurance, which should be enough to dissuade him of thinking of Tartarus as a gym. It's not. She should have expected this. "I won't risk losing you," she adds, forgoing the final _too_.

Sanada must hear it anyway, because he nods reticently, after a beat. Mitsuru breathes in relief, a reward for his good behavior (sometimes it does him good, a reminder that she's human, even if just barely).

* * *

Without Aragaki, the dorm goes from home to a building. Mitsuru hadn't realized how important he was, but she does now. Very acutely, in fact – is this what they say regarding not appreciating what one has until it is gone?

Well. Mitsuru focuses on her studies, instead. Mid-terms are coming up and she channels her frustrations on paper and pen, scheduling Student Council meetings left and right, falling asleep on the lounge once or twice. She usually wakes up covered in something, those days, be it Sanada's jacket or a blanket; though her mood lightens somewhat, she doesn't know why.

"It's not good for you," Sanada says between bites of cereal, from the kitchen table. Mitsuru feels the back of her neck heat, but he doesn't turn to look at her, just keeps eating. She gets up from the couch, smoothing down her skirt and shirt, and then brushes her hair behind her shoulder.

"I've been busy, lately," she replies, instead of, _thank you for the jacket,_ or _thank you for your worries,_ or _why do you care so much?_ Sanada looks at her over his shoulder, then, watching her as she pads into the kitchen, searching for a glass of water.

"This isn't – fair. Why can you drown yourself in school stuff when you won't even let me enter Tartarus?" he asks, setting down his spoon, and Mitsuru has to wonder if the heating system has malfunctioned or if it's just Penthesilea, ready to strike. She breathes in, leans her hip against the table, and crosses her arms.

"I am in not risking my life," she replies, all thoughts of a glass of water rushing down the drain. "I am merely tending to my duties," and then, because she can't help it, "as should you. Mid-terms are near."

Sanada huffs very lightly under his breath, eyes downcast.

"We have our Personas for a reason," he says. "And we're not using them – isn't this just – selfish?"

"It's self-preservation," Mitsuru shoots back, even though she's not as sure of herself as she usually is. Her fingers grip at the folds of her shirt, and Sanada notices, bright eyes pressing her down like she's carbon. "Without Aragaki," she resumes, and Sanada's gaze hardens at the sound of the name, "it's just me backing you up from the ground floor. We are not risking your life just because you want to."

"Then," he begins, sounding hopeful despite the conversation's cool temperature, "what if we go in, together, just the bottom floors, just until Shinji comes back, or until someone else joins—"

"I'll think about it," she breathes, fingers loosening. Sanada gets up and sets the bowl near the sink, looking pleased with himself; Mitsuru texts her personal assistant, tells him to cancel all night events, and doesn't even feel half-guilty.

* * *

Tartarus has always been quiet; two people are not enough to fill it up with noise. Mitsuru doubts even two thousand people could make a difference. The tower sucks up any human activities, erasing them easily. It's eerie – especially because it amplifies the wet sounds the shadows make when they move, slithering towards them with open mouths.

She puts the motorcycle keys in her skirt's pocket, hears them clink, and then looks at the first stairway. Sanada, beside her, looks at it like a kid at Christmas, ready to dive inside a pile of presents. She breathes in, out, and then nods.

"Let's do this," he says, already climbing the stairs, two by two. Mitsuru follows quietly, her heels clicking on the floor.

"Don't forget," she reminds him, when Sanada is inches away from the jamb, "when I say it's time to retreat—"

"Yeah, I remember," he says, cutting her off with a smile, and then enters.

Mitsuru presses her lips together, feeling Penthesilea stir with excitement and anxiety. The cool wind blowing inside her picks up speed when she's inside Tartarus' second floor, listening to the faraway sounds of melting shadows. Sanada fidgets with his gloves, impatient as always, and Mitsuru's fingers tighten around the handle of her rapier.

When she says it's time to leave, they still have half an hour left, and Sanada's mouth quirks to the side like a grumpy fold, but he acquiesces.

* * *

Tragedy almost strikes, one night – Mitsuru slides her rapier up Sanada's ribs, twisting it in a artful demonstration of what a charmed swordswoman can do. Sanada manages to finish off the treacherous shadow, somehow hitting it with a desperate Zio, and then crumples to the floor, hands on his side. Mind unclouded, Mitsuru kneels beside him, feeling short of breath. Feeling full of guilt.

"Akihiko," she whispers, distracted in her horror. Her voice trembles as she casts Dia on him, once, twice, thrice; she doesn't stop until he's strong enough to grab her shaking hands, halting her. They're finally warm, she notices, and then deflates, feeling exhausted. "I'm so sorry, I – I shouldn't have, I—"

Sanada looks up from their hands, surprised, and then swallows, letting go.

"Mitsuru," he says seriously, placing a bloody hand on her shoulder, "it's fine."

It's not. She should have been better, she should have focused more, she should have evaded. Her hands are red with his blood, red like a killer's. She wants to throw up.

"Really, I'm okay," Sanada presses, his warm palm tightening on her shoulder. Penthesilea croons tiredly, closing her eyes to rest, and Mitsuru follows, slumping against him. Before she falls unconscious, she feels his hesitant arm circle around her.

* * *

He calls her Mitsuru more often, after that. At school, she's still Kirijo, heiress extraordinaire and unattainable, but in the dorm, his mouth slips into an _m_ more times than she'd like. Well, no. Maybe. The only person who calls her Mitsuru is Father, and she's not used to hearing someone else do it. Not many people are close to her, after all.

Sanada, apparently, is the kind of person to believe a near-death experience brings people together. He begins pressing her into eating at the dorm more often, which is something she's secretly thankful for; she still refuses his invitations to jog to school in the mornings, feeling appalled at the thought of being seen as anything other than perfect.

"What's the big deal?" he asks, giving her a genuinely confused look. "What does it matter what people think?"

"Mm," Mitsuru replies blandly, sipping at her tea. She still hasn't learned how to brew it like her butler, but she doesn't find it totally repulsive anymore. She's still better than Sanada, but then again he _has_ been forbidden to attempt any other tea brewing-related activities.

"Mitsuru," he says, a little slowly, because even though he's begun calling her by her first name he's still unsure if she hates it or not. She doesn't, not really, but she won't ever tell. Too embarrassing, too weak. Penthesilea scoffs from within her; Mitsuru ignores her. "It's good training, and it'll wake you up better than your expensive coffee."

Mitsuru wakes up too early and goes to bed too late; she has responsibilities that go beyond the scope of school, like checking up on Tartarus and the Kirijo Group. She doesn't particularly like the taste of coffee, expensive or not, but it gives her the spike of energy she so desperately needs in the mornings, so she continues buying it.

She wonders if Sanada has figured this out.

"I appreciate your concern," she says, but in the end she still doesn't ask her driver to stop coming in the mornings. If Sanada is disappointed, he doesn't let it show.

* * *

"Why don't you call me by my first name?" he asks her out of the blue, returning from a finishing left hook, still panting lightly. The shadows before them twist into darkness, melting into nothing once more, and Mitsuru gives him a surprised look. Sanada, making sure their battle really is over, doesn't notice. "Does it – does it bother you that I call you Mitsuru?" he adds, voice tentative, eyes returning to hers.

"No," she replies, after a beat, blandly and truthfully. "I'm just not used to it."

Sanada looks at her, expression unreadable, and then nods slowly.

"So," he tries, elongating the vowel.

"So," she begins, looking aside, feeling the back of her neck heat, "I don't mind at all."

That's the night when Sanada becomes Akihiko. Mitsuru had expected more of a change, more of a significant event to mark it, like another accident, or something, but it doesn't come. They finish their patrol, cast their final Dias, and go back home in comfortable silence. When they bid each other goodnight, Mitsuru says his first name, and then smiles nervously, just a little, but Akihiko grins back at her and calls out her name, too.

Penthesilea remains satisfied for the rest of the week. Mitsuru, too.

* * *

Mitsuru meets Takeba by accident. She's heard several classmates discuss the freshman's pretty face and her rising popularity, but she only sees her mid-way into her second year. She's in the Student Council room, ready to leave, when someone knocks on the door. The sound is hesitant, but it fills up the room.

"Come in," says Mitsuru, not looking up from her bag, making sure she has everything.

The doors slide, and it's only after a nervous clearing of the throat that Mitsuru sets her eyes on Takeba's unsure expression.

"Um, good afternoon, Kirijo-senpai," says Takeba, holding onto a club's expenses' sheet. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I was told to deliver this to you. It's from the archery club captain – Tsugumi-senpai."

Thank you, is what Mitsuru means to say, before Penthesilea breathes in expectantly, recognizing that distant, familiar pull of energy inside Takeba. A second passes, then another, and the color is rushing to Takeba's face as she waits. Mitsuru gets up, using her best disarming smile.

"Thank you," she finally says, getting up from her seat and picking up the expenses' info from the younger girl's hand. "Takeba, isn't it?"

Takeba straightens immediately, "yes, senpai."

"May I ask you a question? Where are you living as of now?"

Takeba (who in no doubt has heard of the Kirijo dorm in Iwatodai, because, really, who hasn't) only gives Mitsuru a careful look before replying.

"I'm currently living alone."

Mitsuru nods, smiles, and returns to her desk, wordlessly dismissing Takeba. The other girl bows slightly before bolting out of the room, all nerves and confusion, and Mitsuru watches her go, feeling Penthesilea stir impatiently.

* * *

Akihiko reacts to the news with nervous, expectant energy. They're sitting in the lounge; he's sewing his old gloves the way he always does, before an important match, while Mitsuru allows herself a slice of cake and a cup of tea.

"Takeba, huh," he says, looking faraway, "I've heard of her."

"She seems to have gathered a reputation for herself," Mitsuru agrees.

"So, if she has the potential, we need to contact Ikutsuki-san right away!" He gets up, gloves still in his hands. Mitsuru gives him a _look. _Akihiko sits back down.

"I will address this matter the next time I have a meeting with him." She brings her fork to her mouth, tongue flat against the metal tonsils. Akihiko stares at the cutlery, mouth slack, and Mitsuru wonders if she has cream on her face, but then he looks away, pensive. "It would do us good to have another team member," she adds, sighing.

"Yeah," Akihiko adds, still not looking at her.

* * *

"Ah, Takeba Yukari," says Ikutsuki, looking oddly pale in the command room's light. "She's the daughter of the – well, her father died in the Kirijo incident."

Penthesilea freezes; Mitsuru feels her arms rupture into goosebumps. She doesn't react to the words, though, not really, though Akihiko's eyes slide towards her when Ikutsuki's done talking. It makes her feel warm and uncomfortable all at once.

"The one ten years ago?" Akihiko asks. "The one where the school blew up? But I thought she transferred into Gekkoukan."

"She did," Ikutsuki confirms. He does not look at Mitsuru. "But she's natural from here, if I'm not mistaken. Her family moved after – well. However, I'm more than certain she would like to move into the dorm. She would be a useful addition to the SEES group, of course," he goes on, clapping his hands jovially, "don't you think so, Mitsuru?"

"Y-Yes," says Mitsuru, caught off-guard, voice unsure.

Akihiko looks at her for the rest of the meeting, but Mitsuru withdraws into her room before he can ask anything else.

* * *

Takeba moves in. It takes her a while to get used to life in the dorm, Mitsuru can tell. Takeba always looks either meek or surprised to see anyone else when she leaves her room; Akihiko thinks it's because the two of them are older, but Mitsuru isn't sure. Takeba is smart – her academic scores so far contain a mix of natural quick-wit and diligence – and she's surprised them all by so readily accepting. There must be something she's after.

"Aren't you looking too much into it," Akihiko says one day, when Takeba is out having archery practice. "She's helping us out a lot. She's just – nervous? Maybe?"

"Mm," says Mitsuru, glancing at the dorm's door.

* * *

Despite all, Takeba is a positive influence on the dorm. After the initial, more awkward period, Takeba sometimes displays a ferociousness that surprises Mitsuru. Akihiko, too – the first time Takeba shoots a poisonous sentence at a shadow, rolling her eyes, Akihiko gawks at the other girl for a whole minute.

"I didn't think you would be so—" Akihiko says, at a loss. Mitsuru, once more confined to the ground floor, just smiles to herself, watching Takeba and Akihiko move on through Penthesilea's eyes.

Takeba's abilities are on the defensive side, which is a good addition to the team; Akihiko is all fists, Mitsuru uses offensive magic, and neither of them are expert healers, though they come handy in a pinch. But Takeba's fluent in striking cutting wind and advanced healing, which seems to surprise the younger girl herself.

"I didn't think," she starts, looking at her evoker oddly, and then quiets down. Akihiko's eyes on her force her to continue, though, his power to press people activating. "I didn't think I'd be a fixer," she finally says, a little pink.

"You're a useful team member because of it," Akihiko says confidently, his gloved hand on her shoulder, and Mitsuru smiles before warning them they have to return in fifteen minutes.

"Have you been listening in, Mitsuru?" he asks, oblivious to how rude he's being (the usual). Takeba closes her eyes, pinching at her nose when she's sure Akihiko is looking in another direction. Mitsuru sympathizes.

"I'll be waiting," she says instead, ignoring him. Ignoring how hot her face feels.

* * *

They stop having dinner together. Takeba seems to prefer dining alone, usually taking over the kitchen while Mitsuru and Akihiko are out, and Akihiko suddenly seems uncomfortable with eating with just Mitsuru. This is a development that, to be honest, makes Mitsuru ache a little; Penthesilea only hikes her chin, haughtily offended.

"It kind of just," Akihiko tries, looking unusually flustered, "I don't know."

Mitsuru wants to ask, _is something wrong_ or, _is this about Takeba, _or even, _did I do something?_ She doesn't. Instead, she brings her hand up to her hair, curling a lock distractedly.

"I see," she says, though she doesn't. Penthesilea offers no advice beyond utilizing a well-aimed Bufu.

"Does this bother you?" he asks, bringing his eyes down to hers – he's gotten tall, how did she not notice? He used to be her height, her build. Not anymore.

"If it's what makes you most comfortable, I have no issues with this arrangement," she lies, nodding once. Akihiko replies with a nod of his own, though he looks even more conflicted than before.

* * *

She starts eating out again. Mitsuru has always been used to long tables and longer candles and clean, expensive cutlery, but now it just feels hollow. The garçon presents a twelve-dish meal with a polite smile, and Mitsuru watches him go with no appetite of her own.

In what world do instant noodles taste better than foie gras and caviar? Mitsuru pictures Akihiko and Aragaki exchanging jabs over oily pasta and meaty bowls, and sets her knife and fork together, ready to pay.

* * *

"Ah, um, Mitsuru-senpai," says Takeba, who has, in no doubt, picked up Akihiko's fondness for first names, "may I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replies, closing her magazine politely.

In the couch, Takeba fidgets, looking at her fingers.

"It's just – I've been hearing rumors, and I thought I should discuss them with you." The younger girl breathes in, mouth a little open, and then proceeds, eyes shut for courage: "A-Are you and Akihiko-senpai dating?" Mitsuru blinks. Takeba proceeds, without even stopping to breathe. "It's just – Tsugumi-senpai heard it from one of the boxing club's members, and Akihiko-senpai's a part of it, so—and, um, it seems most people think so, too, so I just wanted to – ask?"

It's the first time Mitsuru sees Takeba this shy, but she supposes her usual cool demeanor has done nothing to soothe the younger girl's fear of being disrespectful. Still, this is no time to look affable; all Mitsuru can do is maintain a straight face, despite the heat spreading across her face.

"We are not," she finally says. "Rumors like this are liable to appear, of course, since we live in the same dorm." She smooths the magazine cover with her hand, playing with the corner of the sheet. "I am thankful for your honesty."

Takeba deflates with a relieved sigh.

"To be honest, I was just curious to know if it was true or not," she says, shrugging.

Mitsuru smiles back, feeling awkward, and then retraces Akihiko's behavior.

_Ah, _she thinks.

* * *

Officer Kurosawa has always been one of Akihiko's acquaintances. Mitsuru doesn't know where they met, and she won't ask, either, though the urge to curb her curiosity weakens when Akihiko asks her to do the weapon shopping instead of him.

"It's just this once," he says, fighting with his gym bag. His gloves refuse to fit inside, and Mitsuru wonders what else does he have in there, but she doesn't feel like asking. "Officer Kurosawa is in a pretty good mood today, so I'm sure he'll make us some better prices, but I can't miss practice and I won't make it in time."

He hasn't looked at her once, busy with zippers and stubborn boxing gloves, and Mitsuru can't help but to assume he's doing at least half of it on purpose. She throws her hair over her shoulder, thinks, and then says okay.

"Thanks," he replies, staggering towards the dorm doors with a quick, awkward glance in her direction. Mitsuru lifts one eyebrow, a little peeved at his treatment of her, and Akihiko hurriedly opens the door open, ears pink.

He's out so fast she almost misses it, and she's been looking at him from the start. She waits his exit out, curling a lock around her pointer finger, and then walks out as well, headed to Paulownia Mall.

It's half-empty, today – club activities are still ongoing, so there are only old men and housewives walking around. Mitsuru makes haste, opening the police department door with a firm push and a cool face. She doesn't really know what to expect from Officer Kurosawa: on one hand, he's a friend of her father's, she knows at least this much, but on the other he is also connected to Akihiko.

"Can I help you, Kirijo-san?" asks the only officer on duty, glaring at her from under his uniform hat. Mitsuru nods, chin hiked high enough for her to be a heiress, not a client.

"Officer Kurosawa," she says, in greeting, in questioning. He nods. "Sanada-san asked me to fill in for him today."

"I see," says Officer Kurosawa, already leaning in, picking up card boxes from under the counter. "Is his big match today?"

Mitsuru feels a little surprised; Officer Kurosawa seems to be more than simple acquaintances with Akihiko. Is there really so much she doesn't know about Akihiko, even after all these years? She swallows in dry, noticing Penthesilea, how she is beginning to build herself up, ready to strike.

"I believe he only mentioned practice," she replies, looking over the merchandising Officer Kurosawa has displayed over the counter.

"Mmhm," says Officer Kurosawa, and remains quiet and observant until Mitsuru is done shopping.

"Thank you," she says, as a curt goodbye, and Officer Kurosawa nods, wishing her a nice day.

* * *

"Akihiko," she says, upon getting home, full of determination. Takeba is out with friends tonight – the dorm extends quietly under their feet like old times. Maybe that's why Mitsuru feels Penthesilea lash out so strongly.

Akihiko, hair still damp, glances up from his gloves, which are more than pristine enough already. He looks a little guilty.

"Do you remember what you told me, a few years ago?" she begins, arms crossed. She's standing up, hip cocked, storm brewing within. She clears her throat professionally: "What does it matter what people think?"

"What?" he asks, sounding deeply confused – he usually does, though, so she ignores him, preferring to move on.

"Just because people are discussing our lives, does it really matter?" She smooths down her skirt, distracted. An excuse to seem uninterested. "Is that why you stopped talking to me?"

Akihiko flushes red, all the way to his ears, his neck, and Mitsuru is caught unaware. She stares, taking in the saturation of his cheeks, the brightness of his startled eyes. A beat passes, as slow as the path Mitsuru's eyes take.

"_What?_" he manages, almost dropping his gloves. His voice is a little higher than usual. "Who's discussing what?"

"You don't know?" she asks back, unable to contain her surprise. "I thought," and then she shuts up abruptly, bringing her hand to her hair. Akihiko notices, just like she notices he always manages his gloves when he's nervous.

The silence is heavy, awkward, and Mitsuru almost turns away and walks off, but when she begins to move, Akihiko reaches for her wrist, quicker than a left hook. She stares at his hand. He stares, too, looking as surprised as she feels. Penthesilea purrs, trying to convince Mitsuru to act, and Mitsuru almost, almost does, measuring the angle of Akihiko's tense jaw.

In the end, though, Takeba's keys rattle from the outside, a warning; Akihiko just lets go, and Mitsuru retreats, much to Penthesilea's anger.

* * *

Their second year ends with no incidents.

Mitsuru attempts to spend the fewest time possible inside the dorm, and launches herself into campaigning. She doesn't really need it, she knows, but sometimes she gets sick of relying on her last name so much. She supposes it's Akihiko's fault – she finds that she prefers being Mitsuru or Mitsuru-senpai, rather than Kirijo. It means she means something. Right?

She opens the dorm door, dropping her keys in her pocket without thinking about it, and heads straight to the stairs. Her bag is loaded with documents, today – half Student Council and half Kirijo Group – and the end of her back aches if she straightens too stiffly. Her mood is sour, and not just because of it.

"Do you need a hand?" Akihiko asks, taking the bag's handle and nonchalantly putting it around his own shoulder. Mitsuru, who has only just noticed he was in the lounge, feels her shoulders tighten in surprise, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. Akihiko smiles apologetically.

"I didn't hear you," she says, standing in the first step of the stairways. She's his height, for once. It feels weird, much to her surprise; where has the familiarity of same heights gone? Are they even the same people as before?

"Sorry. What do you have inside here?" he asks, adjusting the handle with a strained face.

"Dossiers, mostly," she replies, unmoving.

A moment passes. If they focus, they can hear Takeba shuffling about in the second floor, probably buying a can of Mad Bull. Her footsteps disappear into the third floor eventually, and Akihiko looks at Mitsuru in the eyes, frowning.

"I'm sorry," he says, his calloused fingers tight around the bag's handle. "I didn't know how to deal with—" he stammers, flushes pink, "—I guess I messed up."

"It's okay," Mitsuru says, and her voice sounds small even to her own ears.

They climb the stairs in silence, the knot on her back soothing; when they get to her room, Akihiko hands her her bag, a subtle way of telling her he doesn't plan to undermine her privacy. Mitsuru bites the inside of her cheek, fumbling with the zippers, feeling warm.

"Have a good one," Akihiko bids goodbye, and chuckles half-heartedly, wincing a little at the end when he thinks she's not watching.

"Akihiko," she calls, when he turns around to leave, "if you don't have anything else to do," and she inhales, feeling her foundations shake like they're being torn apart, feeling suddenly very vulnerable, "would you like to help me with my campaign for President?"

Akihiko turns, eyes a little wide, and then nods, reticent and expectant, like the first time they met.

"Y-Yeah," he replies, as pink as Mitsuru feels. He harrumphs, tries again. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

She watches him go downstairs, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed protectively over her chest; it's only when she can no longer see him that she smiles, biting down on her lip, thinking of an old French song she heard once.

"Toujours dans mon coeur," she hums distractedly, under her breath, walking inside.


End file.
